Life After You
by WriterLeigh
Summary: "So this is really it? You're really going." His eyes scan the bare room, landing on the pile of half boxed books, and lingering on Storm Fall sat on the counter. "This is really it," she repeats. She'd rebuilt her entire life from the ashes here, she'd found love, and now she has experienced loss too. It is only fitting that she leaves behind some kind of acknowledgment of that.
1. This Is Our Goodbye

**Author Note:**

**This story is a co-write, which myself and a friend had been working on sporadically since the season 6 finale aired, but which was temporarily abandoned last year. Some of you may recognize parts of this chapter, as it has been previously posted - but we decided it needed a quick grammar fix, and then when our ideas developed, decided that parts of it needed completely reworking. **

**This is rated M for sexual situations, so if it's not your cup of tea then hit the back button now. Thank you to KT for the stunning cover art.**

**We hope you enjoy reading, and endeavour to have a new chapter posted over the coming week. Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

**-Leigh and KB**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: We own no rights to Castle or its characters. Everything which you recognise is the intellectual property of Andrew W. Marlowe. We're just playing in his playground so please don't sue ;)<strong>

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><p><span><strong>Life After You<strong>

_Let go of my hand, so I can feel again_

_Nothing's gonna hurt as much, as that final touch_

_- Lady Antebellum_

**1. This is our goodbye**

_She glances around her almost empty apartment and sighs. The walls are stripped bare of all the artwork, most of her possessions are boxed up ready for shipping and she's almost finished packing away the contents of her bookshelves. Her eyes land on a large wrapped painting leaning against the wall, and she__'__s unable to recall the exact moment when this place transitioned from being someone else's to becoming her own. She picks up 'Storm Fall,' from one of the remaining piles, and opens it to the dedication page, where she's long since committed the personalised inscription to memory. __'__Not that you're a fan.__' __He'd had that twinkle in his eye when he presented it to her and at the time she'd wondered if she really was that transparent. He'd already demonstrated quite the aptitude for reading people, not to mention that it seemed like even the boys knew there was more to her love of his books than she was willing to admit. She used to be better at hiding things than that. _

_She abandons the packing in favour of searching through the rest of the unboxed books until her fingers close around a hardback edition of 'In a Hail of Bullets.' The book is worn with age, and she is always mindful of this when she opens it. 'Johanna Beckett's library' is printed in faded ink, accompanied by his elegant scrawl. Her fingers trace his penmanship almost reverently and it strikes her then that she never told him. They've gone from co-workers, to friends, to partners and to lovers and in five years she's never mentioned it. They've joked about saving each other's lives, with Castle going so far as to keep score, and she still never let on that he saved her life way before he even knew her. They quickly fell into this pattern of dancing around the serious conversation, but this was never supposed to be one of the things between them that went left unsaid._

_She replaces the book on top of one of the piles, and stops again to mentally catalogue what still needs to be done before she signs away the end of her lease. The kitchen is more or less boxed up, with the exception of a couple of bowls and a mug. There are a stack of boxes by the bedroom door, which she__'__s putting into storage for now; the things she doesn__'__t need to take with her but that she can__'__t quite seem to let go of. Many of the bigger items have already been shipped and the rest of her things are due to be collected just before she leaves. _

_She takes a sip of wine and it warms her insides, momentarily replacing the apprehension she__'__s been trying to ignore for the past couple of days. Because she__'__s made the right decision, and she__'__ll feel fine about it once her possessions are filling up the empty loft waiting for her 250 miles away in Washington D.C. There__'__s one more thing she needs to do though, something that she__'__s done everywhere she__'__s ever lived, in order to give herself closure. _

_She picks up her purse off the counter, and her fingers wrap around the Victorinox pocket knife Castle had gifted her years ago, and makes a mental note to put it away in her suitcase, because she really doesn__'__t want it confiscated by airport security. As a joke, he had bought her the girliest version he could find. It was pretty much the same standard Swiss army knife, but it lacked its deep red outer shell. Instead, this one had a smooth white finish, with little red cherries dotted onto it. She__'__d given him grief about it at the time, proclaiming she deserved as manly a knife as the next guy, but she had secretly loved the gesture. And she__'__d been thoroughly amused when, a week later, she found the pink tool kit in the trunk of her cruiser. He probably knows anyway, but regardless, this is yet another thing she__'__s never taken the time to tell him. _

_She walks up to the steps in her kitchen, spends a minute debating the right spot and drops to ground level, beginning to painstakingly leave her mark on the place she__'__s called home for the past three years. It may have just been an apartment building to the naked eye, but for her it has been so much more. It was a safe space for her, the place where she__'__d picked up the pieces from her shooting, uncovered the identity of her mother__'__s murderer and learned to live with the things she couldn__'__t change. She__'__d rebuilt her entire life from the ashes here, she__'__d found love, and now she has experienced loss too. It is only fitting that she leaves behind some kind of acknowledgment of that. Her hair falls across her face, hindering her work but eventually she stops carving and straightens up. Her fingers skim the indentations, brushing away any residue and leaving behind her initials etched into the distressed wood. _

_A knock at the door startles her and even if he didn't knock in a certain way, she'd know it was him. He's the only person in the world who would chance her still being awake at just after 1am. Wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, she gets up from the floor and goes to slide the bolt across._

_For the longest time neither of them speak, but then they've said it all already and she doesn't know what there is left to say. "Hey Castle." She feels strangely exposed - barefoot and in just an old oversized NYPD t-shirt - especially to say he's seen her wearing dramatically less and knows every inch of her body easily as well as she does._

_"Hey yourself." He hovers awkwardly in her doorway and for a minute it is as though he doesn__'__t quite know where to look. "You gonna invite me in, or would you prefer us to talk out here?" She manages a weak smile at that and steps aside, unable to remember the last time she had to invite him in. She leans against the door, watching him look around and she's transported back to a time some three years previously when he had an unhealthier than natural interest in perusing her apartment. "So this is really it? You're really going." His eyes scan the bare room, landing on the pile of half boxed books, and lingering on Storm Fall sat on the counter. _

_"This is really it," she repeats, like she can't believe it herself. "I'd offer you a drink but-" her face twists up into yet another failed attempt at a smile and she gestures helplessly towards the kitchen._

_"I didn't come here for a drink." The intensity of his gaze almost startles her and she can__'__t quite get a read on the emotion on his face._

_Kate swallows hard, trying to put on her best poker face. "What are you doing here Castle?" She hates how vulnerable she sounds, because this isn't her, or at least it wasn't. Until he came along and hadn__'__t just upset the apple cart but turned the entire thing on its head and made juice with the contents. "We agreed we weren't going to do this."_

_"I had to," he mutters, and it pains her to hear the way the desperation finally invades his words. "I couldn't let you leave without doing this one last time." He breaches her personal space, hands bracketing her hips and the internal conflict is written clearly on her face as his eyes silently will her not to push him away._

_They shouldn__'__t do this, because she's leaving tomorrow, they__'__re not even together anymore. and in her experience nothing good has ever come from ex-sex. She closes her eyes and forces herself to remember all the reasons why this is for the best, because he__'__s driving her to distraction - stood so close she can almost taste him - and she__'__s afraid he__'__ll make her forget. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone and she's overcome with an overwhelming desire to press her lips to the tanned skin on display there. God, she wants him and to hell with the consequences. "I need this too." _

_Her admission gives Castle the encouragement he needs and somewhere between his lips descending on hers, and his thigh sliding between her legs she stops thinking altogether. Her back hits the wooden door with a thud and a groan, but the pain barely registers. He presses a trail of hot open-mouthed kisses against her clavicle before his mouth ghosts across the column of her throat. Her eyes flutter shut at the sensation and she's not quite able to prevent a few tears from slipping beneath her closed eyelids when his mouth hovers above the life-affirming scar between her breasts, only the thin barrier that is her tank top, between them._

_Kate's body goes rigid under the gentleness of his touch and she almost can't breathe as she's reminded of everything they've been through together. "I'm sorry Castle, for what it's worth." Her breathing is already uneven and the words fall urgently from her lips in a silent plea for him to understand and to selfishly assuage herself of some of the guilt she feels for leaving. "I'm so sorry."_

_A strangled half sob escapes her throat and she tries to bury her face in his shoulder but Castle is clearly anticipating the move and deflects it. He moves back up to her mouth and painstakingly drags her lip between his teeth, swallowing any further attempts to apologize. She sees right through his ploy but she lets it go, responding to the kiss in kind. Because this is neither of their faults; they're just not the same two people who entered into the relationship a year ago. She doesn__'__t want to not take this opportunity and end up resenting him for it, but equally she loves him too much to let him compromise everything that's important to him, to follow her to a whole new state. _

_Castle touches one hand to her face, his thumb swiping at the trail of moisture on her cheeks. He presses his leg further into the juncture of her thighs, and the repetitive pressure there, works to distract her. The tears are no longer falling so he drags his mouth away from hers, and Kate lets out a frustrated groan which he ignores. His lips begin caress her delicate collarbone, teeth sinking into it and leaving what is sure to be an impressive hickey. Her breath catches in her throat causing them both to feel the vibrations, his head descending lower still. She closes her eyes involuntarily when his mouth latches onto her right nipple, the cotton of her tank top only serving to increase her sensitivity._

_His thigh nudges insistently against her core and she swears under her breath, hips rocking against him involuntarily in response to the movement. He's always been an attentive lover, but tonight he pays closer attention to her than ever; to the way her body involuntarily reacts to him, to the noises she makes, the moans she tries and fails to suppress and the rapid change in her breathing as he brings her closer to the edge. "Castle, please!"_

_Kate's fingers have found purchase in the material of his shirt, to the point where it must be almost painful, and if it was accidental before she's now shamelessly using his thigh to get herself off, hips gyrating harder. She bites back a scream, the friction doing all kinds of wonderful things for her and oh sweet Jesus! The friction against her clit borders on painful but she__'__s thinking with the wrong body part, and the words to slow him down get lost in her haste to have him exactly where she wants him. _

_The remaining hand which supported her hip slides between their bodies, clenches around a fistful of her shirt and drags it upwards, leaving more of her open to his exploration. Castle wastes no time in sliding his hand down the front of her saturated boy shorts and cupping her sex, being rewarded for his endeavour with a throaty moan. His face is buried in the curve of her neck, but he expertly trails his fingers through her slick wetness, bringing them up to tease her clit, his featherlight touch not quite enough to do anything more than frustrate her. __"Castle -" She__'__s unable to do anymore than growl his name. The rest of the words die on her lips, when in one effortless slide, he__'__s inside her. She should be embarrassed at how much she needs this, but with the pads of his fingers manipulating her like this, she decides she can__'__t find it in her to care. This isn__'__t going to take long at all. _

_Between them, they establish a punishing rhythm, her hips working in counterpoint to his hand, and it is a matter of minutes before she loses the capacity to keep herself upright. Kate's hand desperately slides down to join him between her legs and she slides the pad of her thumb across her clit in a rough circular motion, in time with his thrusts. He scissors his fingers inside her, teeth sinking into her shoulder. She comes quick and hard, his name a scream on her lips, body wedged between him and the door. _

_Kate is in no state to make a comparison but Castle is unable to ignore the parallels between tonight and the first time he did this with her, against the front door of his loft. __"__Where did you go?" Her voice is breathier than normal, breaking into his musings, once she__'__s come back to herself enough to be able to form a coherent thought. She lifts her head from his shoulder to look at him, testing her ability to move._

_"I was just thinking." He doesn__'__t elaborate and selfishly, she__'__s glad, because the faint strains of regret laces his words and it hurts to hear._

_"Think later," she murmurs insistently, her lips brushing against the stubble on his jaw and finally capturing his lips. She tugs his shirt from his pants, hands trembling in her haste to divest him of it and he lifts her tank top cleanly over her head. She reaches for his belt dragging leather from metal and together they drag off both his boxers and his pants, his dick springing proudly upright against the planes of his stomach. Her hands travel over his well defined torso, and he shivers beneath her touch, when she pinches his nipple. Her mouth alternating between pressing hot kisses against anywhere she can reach, changing it up and letting her teeth scrape against his Adam's apple. Her hands move seemingly of their own volition and she grips him in her fist, the friction from her palm making him struggle to keep still. He hisses when she brushes her thumb over his weeping head, smearing his pre-cum down his length. "Fuck, Beckett."_

_"We're getting there," she promises him, voice low and her mouth hot against his ear. She bites down on the lobe, bringing her tongue out to soothe the sudden sting. He's gripping her hips so tightly she won't be surprised if she's bruised later, but she doesn't care. Her hand is moving faster and he swallows thickly, trying to concentrate on anything else but the sensations she's creating when she twists her wrist a fraction._

_He flexes his fingers, his hands beginning to roam her sides, dipping into the curves and contours and making her squirm when they dip into the hollow beneath her ribcage. His fingers lightly trace over the scar and she stiffens momentarily before relaxing at his affirmation that she's beautiful. He moves to her breasts, teasing the nipples and squeezing. She copies him, cupping his balls, his weight hot and heavy against her hand and he grits his teeth, this is torture and he can't take it anymore. "Kate," he says, thickly, shying away from her touch. She__'__s maneouvered them so that now his back now against the door and the cold metal doorknob against his skin is a complete contrast to how hot he feels all over. It sends a shiver straight down his spine. __"God.." __he tries again, his voice is low, but his warning gets caught in his throat._

_She understands. Kate moves his hands to wrap around her thighs and he lifts her with ease angling her body towards him. He can feel the tension in her calves, and he knows this is too is going to be a much quicker affair than usual. She pulls him closer still, if that's possible and they both moan when their hips come into contact, Castle deliberately letting his cock tease her entrance before sliding into her in one fluid motion. His thrusts are shallow and he slides almost the entire way out of her, and pushes back in deeper than before. _

_His tongue mimics the motion, plunging into the wet cavern of her mouth and she's kissing him back hungrily, attempting to get impossibly closer. She's already starting to clench around him, and when he increases the pace to reflect that, her hips cant up towards him. Castle curses loudly against her mouth, one hand still with a death grip on her hip. His moans are joined by hers, when she feels him throb inside her. "Is that doing it for you?" She pulls her head back an inch and breathes the words out against his skin, deliberately jerking her hips against him._

_"You've always done it for me." Kate's eyes become glassy and she looks like she's about to speak, but is prevented from doing so by the press of his fingers against her lips. Their words give way to gasps then anyway, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin contact echoing through the almost empty apartment. A particularly deep thrust, combined with the additional pressure of two thick fingers meticulously working her bundle of nerves is all it takes to send her spiralling into oblivion._

_She's never been a particularly vocal lover and always had a hard time letting herself go, but with him it has always seemed to come naturally. In complete contrast to her first orgasm though, Kate is quiet and Castle rather unusually, follows her lead, his seed spilling into her and - minus another strangled __'oh fuck, Kate__' __being forced from his throat - letting his actions speak for themselves. He rests heavily against the door, her weight gradually forcing them to slide down towards the floor._

_They are silent for a long time and while it started out comfortably enough, that atmosphere is rapidly beginning to deteriorate the longer they go without speaking. Neither of them want to be the first to break the spell, and both are unwilling to let their harsh reality set back in. Castle's entire demeanor has changed and Kate can feel an unasked question lingering in the air, the proverbial elephant in the room. __"__What aren't you saying?" she asks and his eyes widen slightly. "What? You were not asking very loudly."_

_They both smile at the memory. "Do you regret us?" he says eventually._

_"God no!" Kate's eyes widen, and she gets the feeling that he's been holding this line of conversation back ever since she told him, that if she hadn't just pushed him he would never have asked. She rises up onto her knees and uses both hands to cup his cheeks. "There are a lot of things I regret about my life, and so many things I wish I'd done differently. When I met you I was more broken than anyone realized, but you saw that and you - you put me back together. So no Castle - of all the things I regret, you could never be one of them." The tears come again and they roll down her cheeks unchecked, but it doesn't matter because she thinks he's crying too now. "Rick I -"_

_"Don't Kate-" he chokes on the words, covering her lips with his fingers. "Please don__'__t tell me that you love me, don__'__t say anything, because otherwise I'm gonna do something we'll both regret."_

"_What?__" __She drags his hand away. _

_"I'll ask you to stay." They're barely inches apart and his breath is hot on her face; his lips crash against hers in an attempt to swallow her sobs because it worked before, but she's not letting him. Not this time._

_"What if I'm making a mistake?" She doesn't realize she's speaking until he pulls away to look at her. She avoids his gaze, but they both know it's only the thought of her departure which forces her to voice her very real fears. "What if I can't do this?"_

_"Kate, you know I think you're extraordinary. You__'__re tenacious, remarkable and probably the most resilient person I've ever met, which is why I know you're going to be just fine. You can do anything, but don't ask me if this is a mistake, because you know I can't answer that."_

_"You overestimate me." Her words are flat. Kate climbs off of his lap feeling the void from the sudden lack of contact and holds out a hand to pull him to his feet._

_"You underestimate yourself," he counters and when she still doesn't meet his eyes, he tilts her head towards him. "Who you are isn't going to change just because I'm not by your side, so you're going to get on that plane tomorrow, you're going to go to DC and you are going to be great."_

_How does he always manage to do this? To hit the nail on the head, even when she's not saying what she really means, although, she supposes sardonically that he's had a lot of practice over the last five years. Her eyes fill with fresh tears and even if there was anything she could say in response to that, she can't speak as she collects up their clothing from where it ended up scattered across the floor._

_By the time Kate looks up again she's managed to get her emotions in check but still says nothing as she takes her t-shirt from his outstretched hands, exchanging it with his. They dress in silence, consciously aware they're both watching each other without appearing to do so. It brings a ghost of a smile to her lips seeing the suggestive raise of his eyebrows when she picks up her ruined panties, and the corners of his mouth turn upwards at the customary eye roll she gives him in response. Some things never change._

_"Well, I guess this is it.__" __Castle's smile fades. This is almost deja-vu for them, except that was her line once and she wishes she could reply to it with 'it doesn't have to be' but she can't, because they both know this time that it does. She made that decision for them._

_"You should go," is what she says instead; her eyes are overly bright but her voice is steady. "It's getting late and it's gonna be a long day tomorrow."_

_"Will you at least allow me to drive you to the airport?"_

_"No, Cas- we agreed, I can't leave if you're still standing there watching me go."_

She'd expected him to put up more of a fight, or at least protested a little and she certainly hadn't expected him to listen to her, but she supposes there has to be a first time for everything. As she stands there in the departure lounge, Kate realizes they never actually said goodbye. Talking has never been her M.O. but she thinks it's the first time she's ever seen him completely at a loss for what to say. For the first time, she thinks she might be glad he didn't say anything, because there are no words that wouldn't have sounded inadequate.


	2. Move Along

**Author Note:**

**Thank you all so much for the alerts, fav's and reviews! It's exciting to see the positive response we have had so far! We've loved reading your reviews and are delighted that the chapter was thought provoking enough that you've been asking questions. A couple of those will be answered this time (I think) and aspects of many will definitely be touched upon in upcoming chapters - so we hope you'll find our vision satisfactory!**

**Apologies for the wait between chapters. Spring semester has started so we've been busy finding our feet again. We are trying to get into a pattern where we can write and update regularly. Whether that happens or not remains to be seen though, so we also thank you in advance for your patience! **

**Without further ado, here's chapter two! As always, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

**Enjoy!**

**- Leigh & KB**

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><p><em>Like stone turned into dust<em>

_My heart wasn't enough_

_So far from where I used to be_

_- Lawson _

**2. Move Along**

Flashbacks of their last night together plague his consciousness, images chasing themselves around the chambers of his brain, each one leaving him hurting more than the last. Their heightened emotions, the sensation of skin moving against skin, and the overwhelming sense of loss he felt when she asked him to leave. He's barely slept in two days and didn't shower when he got home, knowing that when he does, she'll truly be gone from his life. The curtains are closed and the harsh light emitted by his laptop penetrates the gloom, doing nothing for the headache beginning to brew at his temples. His gaze falls, lingering resentfully on the two empty whiskey bottles littering his desk. A cursor blinks menacingly at him from a blank page, and he finds himself eternally glad that his mother and daughter have chosen to spend a long weekend in the Hamptons.

It goes against every one of his instincts to do as he's told, although the power balance in their relationship has always been slightly skewed in her favour. He wants to be annoyed at her for making the decision for him and maybe when he's thinking more rationally, he'll concede that it is for the best she did, because right now he's not sure he can be held accountable for his actions. He wouldn't be able to stand there and watch her walk away, not after everything they've been through. He almost wishes he could find it in himself to hate her, sure it can't make him feel any worse than he does already. Instead he hates himself for not making the past five years count enough to make her believe in a future with him.

If their life together had been enough she wouldn't have left, or she'd have taken him with her. At the very least, he would have been involved in the decision making process. It would have been like he actually had a say in the way their story ended, and harbouring those feelings of resentment - sitting in his office and stewing over them - had driven him to her door last night. He hates himself for caving, but damn it, it isn't fair. It isn't fair that Kate just gets to pack up and move on, while everywhere he's been over the past few days has constantly reminded him of her.

Time has elapsed - and with it a good half a bottle of scotch - he can't say how much, a couple of hours maybe, but he's unable to bring himself to look at the clock, knowing that when he does Kate will be boarding her plane, or she'll already be gone. For what has to be the hundredth time since she told him she was leaving, he wonders how it ever come down to this. There should have been warning signs: fights, tears and more and more nights spent apart, but there had been none of that. Just last week they had made love, and when they curled up in bed sated, their whispers spoke of summer plans, a short cruise somewhere if she could get the time off and she'd even been agreeable when he suggested her accompanying him on some of his book tour.

Bile rises in his throat, and out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of a photo of the two of them, a breath catching in his throat and causing sudden tears to rush to his eyes. They blight his vision, stinging, and he can't bear this. Absentmindedly he takes hold of the small metal frame with every intention of putting it away into the drawer but a sudden wave of anger has him sending it flying across the room. Breathing heavily, he pushes himself up from his desk and begins to pace the office, glass crunching underfoot when he steps on the broken photo. It isn't helping. It isn't enough to override the resentment bubbling beneath the surface. He doesn't know how anything will be enough ever again.

His loft is by no means cold but the chill permeating through his bones is more than enough to have him stumbling to his room and reaching for a sweater. In the dimly lit room, his eyes follow the light that bounces off the mirrored closet door, landing on the bedside table. The ring glitters up at him from the polished hardwood surface, almost mockingly. His stomach churns, a wave of nausea rolling over him that he's sure has nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with knowing that they were so close to having it all.

He'd been carrying it around with him for weeks, just waiting for the right opportunity but the moment hadn't presented itself. He'd been sat there at the swings that day going over every word in his mind but then she'd walked up to him and everything he wanted to say melted away at the seriousness of her expression. She started speaking before he could, apologized for flying out to D.C without discussing it with him, and he wanted to question what it meant for them. But she answered the question before he even had a chance to ask. She'd accepted the job. The ring box in his pocket felt heavy against his thigh and he was so close to throwing caution to the wind and just asking her. But something stopped him from being selfish, and instead he'd walked away from her, trying to ignore how it was practically burning a hole in his pocket. The fact that she hadn't followed, told him everything he needed to know.

The alcohol is finally having the desired effect, and it makes him brave enough to glance up at the clock. She has, by his slightly-slower-than-usual calculations, about an hour and a half until boarding. Even if he wanted to go and get her, it is doubtful that he'd make it in time in New York City rush hour traffic. It is for the best. The unfamiliar stab of his conscience pricks just then and he wants to believe it, but it isn't quite overriding the desire to pick up his phone and call her, even knowing she wouldn't answer. He could send her a text though. She's too stubborn to cave and read it immediately, but he likes to think she wouldn't just be able to delete it without giving it a second thought, without giving him a second thought. She'd probably open it, just to avoid seeing the little alert on her home screen, but then it would play on her mind too much not to give in.

Castle gets as far as picking up the phone and opening up their string of messages. He sits there and stares at the blinking cursor for a full five minutes, but doesn't type a single word not even anything that he'd backspace seconds later, because he doesn't know what to say. With his frustration building, and her last 'I love you' becoming blurry in front of his eyes, he forces himself to exit the conversation. He hesitates only momentarily over her contact information, just long enough to drink in the accompanying photo, and before he can talk himself out of it, presses delete and throws his phone on the nightstand. He knows it might all be to no avail, when sober he knows her number by heart, but for now it takes away the temptation and lessens the probability of him doing something he won't be able to take back.

He knows exactly how it's gonna go, can't even pretend that it will pan out any differently to his string of failed relationships. They'll talk for a while, until he gets tired of having one-sided conversations with her voicemail, so he'll stop calling. As time passes, forcing himself to keep busy will become less forced and she'll barely have a moment to herself so the texts will become more infrequent too. Before they stop altogether. He'll reach a point where talking to her is the last thing on his mind, rather than the first but one day he'll still go to call her out of habit and find that her number is no longer in service.

This one startling thought stops him in his tracks, and it is instantly sobering. He snatches his phone up from where he abandoned it seconds ago, and - ignoring anything remotely like common sense - heads out of the door, barely remembering to lock it as he leaves. To him the elevator has never moved slower, the walls of his building have never held so many memories, and an early-summer afternoon has never felt colder. Castle bestows a perfunctory greeting on his doorman and hails a cab, the words barely registering as he states his destination.

He glances out of the window of the moving vehicle to appreciate the people, to keep his mind on something else, at least for the duration of the ride. He sees the tourists, interspersed with the born and bred New Yorkers, and laughs hollowly at how easy it is to tell them apart. He laughs at how oblivious everyone looks to what is happening around them, everyone is so focused on themselves, so happy, uncaring and meanwhile his world is falling apart. The cab pulls up parallel to the sidewalk, and it's with a slightly dazed expression that he realizes the driver is trying to catch his attention. He tips generously and exits the vehicle. The yellow New York City taxi promptly gets swallowed up in the traffic, leaving him stood staring up at the 12th.

If someone had told him six years ago that a police precinct would practically become his second home, he wouldn't have doubted it for a minute, his less than exemplary record being what it is. But he never would have imagined that it could be such a catalyst for change and that just being there would teach him so much. This is where he learned what it means to do something meaningful; to have a purpose and to make a real, tangible difference. It is where he learned that actions always have consequences and the importance of stepping up and taking responsibility for them. It's where he grew up.

Back then he hadn't fully realized how empty his life was - or how mind-numbingly bored he'd become by the day-to-day - and the night Beckett crashed his book launch party, it was like coming up for air. He had no idea of the sheer impact her intrusion would have on his life. That was a twist he hadn't seen coming. But he knew straight away that something was different, that _she _was different.

Most of the other women in his life had left him with nothing but a bitter aftertaste and a lot of regret. After Gina, he dated sporadically at best and even then it was almost always a ploy to stop Paula from harping on at him about his image. None of the flings had gone anywhere beyond a handful of dates, his unwillingness to commit to anyone again making forging a relationship impossible. Meeting Beckett was like a breath of fresh air. When he'd initially invited her to _debrief_, he'd expected that she'd just be like every other woman he'd charmed out of her pants. Clearly he'd underestimated her though, because she'd shown no interest in becoming another one of his conquests. She'd shown no interest in him full stop and that had made all the difference. Kate intrigued him, she challenged him, and she changed him.

Even his family had grown around this woman's presence. Kate hadn't so much adopted the role of mother to Alexis, as much she'd become the only real aspirational role model his daughter had ever had. Not to mention, she's been the only 'woman of substance', he's ever brought home, as his mother has delighted in reminding him on more than one occasion.

He hasn't been by here since the day they worked her last shift together - much he supposes, to Captain Gates' delight. She'd been looking for a reason to kick him to the kerb for the entire time she's been there and now with Beckett gone, he has no excuse to stick around.

And it probably is a bad idea not to just walk away again, because being here is hardly going to be any better than at the loft, not when its where their story began. Instead, against his better judgment maybe, he heads inside, greets the familiar faces he sees and tries to ignore the unintentional pity. He calls the elevator and the stares are becoming harder to shrug off, as it takes too long to arrive.

When he steps out into the bullpen, the first thing that strikes him is that nothing feels that different. It is the same hive of activity it usually is; phones ringing, desk fans whirring away trying to combat the summer heat and cops indulging in their daily quota of gallows humor. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but finds that he's slightly less on edge. This relief is short-lived however, when his eyes land on Captain Gates, surveying the hubbub from her office doorway.

"Mr Castle." If she's surprised by him being there, she doesn't let it show and there's distinctly less irritation in the way she addresses him today.

"Sir," he answers, with nowhere near his usual flare, and unused to having to justify it, he finds he doesn't quite know how to explain his presence. "I just thought I'd drop by, check the boys haven't missed me too much."

"They're out looking for potential witnesses." Gates pauses, and he's on the verge of leaving and giving this up as a bad idea, when she speaks again. "If you want to get yourself a coffee and wait, they should be back in under an hour."

He goes through the motions of his coffee making routine, something that by now comes as a second nature altogether, so he can freely allow his thoughts to wander. It makes him smile when he recalls the way Kate initially refused to use the new espresso machine out of some ridiculous-but-endearing sense of pride. The expression on her face when he caught her at it still makes him chuckle, and even back then he'd had to suppress the urge to kiss that irritated scowl off her lips. Some things really hadn't changed at all; although over the years she'd learned to accept most of his extravagant behaviour with an eye roll and a gentle reprimand, ultimately it had been one of the biggest challenges their relationship had faced. The differences in their lifestyles had been apparent at every turn, and his biggest fear was that the conflict between her desire for privacy and the unavoidable media attention he received would inevitably be what drove them apart.

He is so caught up in the memories that he doesn't realize that Gates has joined him in the break room, until her voice causes him to startle, the majority of the liquid in his mug, slopping over the edges. "Taking the job was the right thing for her, you know?"

"It was," he agrees, because however selfish he wants to be, he can't dispute that. _It's what she wants. _Coffee soaks through the wad of paper towels he uses to clean up the mess, and Castle misses by about an inch when he aims it half-heartedly at the trash can. Sheepish under her gaze, he picks it up and drops it easily into the bin.

"But it also doesn't mean that it has to be a case of choosing one thing over another," Gates says carefully, pulling open the cupboard next to his head and retrieving her mug. "Give it time, let her test her capabilities and I think she'll see that."

Castle doesn't know what to say to that, and they stand there in silence as the expensive espresso machine hums and whirrs, heating up the water. One of these days he'll get around to upgrading it for them because it feels like a lifetime ago since he bought this one. "Thank you, Captain," he answers eventually.

It seems like the natural end to the conversation, and they work around each other without speaking. Just as she's leaving, she stops in the doorway and speaks again. Later he'll be grateful that his coffee is on the counter this time, because he'd probably have spilled it over himself in shock.

"I've always found your - relationship - with the 12th to be slightly unorthodox to say the very least," she starts, and Castle is about to interrupt and tell her he knows where this conversation is headed - because he's been expecting it since he walked back into the bullpen - but something about the look on her face, has him shutting his mouth and waiting expectantly for her to continue. "Have you given any thought to whether you'll be returning?"

_Oh right, she's expecting him to reply._ "I didn't think it was still an option," he answers cautiously. He's not sure what's going on, and this doesn't sound like her kicking him out but he can't be sure.

"Detective Ryan - amongst others - came to see me and advocated for you to remain in an advisory capacity." She stops speaking again, pushing her spectacles up her face before continuing. "And whether I can, as many of my staff seem to, attribute this precinct's close rate to your somewhat unusual methods of working a case remains to be seen, but I'd be delighted if you proved me wrong."

"I'll have to think about it," he says eventually. For the first time in days, the hollow feeling seems to have subsided and there's a fleeting moment of pride which makes him feel almost human again. "Thank you, Captain Gates."

He stares after the formidable homicide Captain as she walks away and he's on the verge of reaching for his phone to crow to Kate that he's finally melted _Captain Permafrost, _when he remembers. He takes a large gulp of coffee, but it is too hot to drink and even the burning sensation in his throat does very little to distract him from the ache that seems to have take up residence somewhere between his chest and stomach.

Glancing out through the frosted glass window, he reflects on his slightly distorted view of the bullpen. Ryan and Esposito's desks are the complete polar opposites and it has always been a source of mild irritation between them. Ryan prides himself on filing away every document and probably has to hand details of every case he's ever worked. Taped to his computer monitor are photos of he and his family, him and Jenny, and now the most recent scan photo. Looking at Espo's desk, you could be forgiven for thinking a small hurricane had ripped through the room. Paperwork seems to have no logical order, pens lay uncapped, ink staining the desk, and attached to his computer is a New York Knicks game schedule. Kate's desk sits empty in the middle of the room - his chair still beside it - and it only serves to amplify the sense of loss he feels. Can he really walk back in here and work side-by-side with the boys every day, like the past five years never happened?

He picks up his coffee off the counter and carries it out of the break room, setting it down on Beckett's desk. He steps in front of the murder board to try and bring himself up to speed on their current case, in the hope that it'll restore his equilibrium or at very least, distract him. Any other time it probably would have worked but so far Esposito's barely legible penmanship indicates they have next to nothing to go on.

Defeated, he gives up. The boys still aren't back and he contemplates going to sit at one of their desks, but instead finds himself dropping down into his own chair. He fishes out his iPhone from the pocket of his pants and acknowledges the three new email notifications on his screen. The first two are from Gina - his new book is due at the end of the month and he's behind again on sending her the latest chapters to critique. The other email is just meaningless junk, which he dismisses without even opening. With that out of the way, he briefly scans his Twitter timeline, before settling down to tackle his latest level on Angry Birds.

"Can I help you?"

Castle's concentration wavers at the interruption of the unfamiliar voice and he sends his final bird off in the complete opposite direction. "Excuse me?" He almost does a double take, glancing up from his iphone and into the piercing expression of a square-jawed, power-suit wearing blonde, who - on first impressions alone - makes Captain Gates look like a pussy cat.

"You're sat at my desk - I presumed you needed something." She doesn't wait for a response, reaching for something beside the desk, and drawing his attention to the box filled with office supplies.

He's about to speak, to clarify his confusion, when a shout from across the bullpen distracts him. "Hey, Castle!"

"Excuse me," he mutters, not caring that he's being rude as he abandons his seat in favour of joining Esposito and Ryan over at their desks.

"Welcome back, bro!" Esposito holds up his hand for a fist bump, and the warning look that Ryan shoots him, isn't lost on Castle.

Castle returns it half-heartedly, but ignores the sentiment. "Looks like someone was in a rush to fill in the empty desks?" He's going for levity but knows he just failed miserably. The unmistakable edge to his voice makes him come across more like a petulant child.

"What are you doing here, Castle?" Ryan asks, deflecting the conversation. "Don't you think you should take a little time?"

"A little time? Am I supposed to be in mourning or something now?" He barks out a humourless laugh. Beckett's not dead, guys. She's moving to DC to further her career and I'm happy for her." Castle raises his voice, temper close to fraying and the rest of the bullpen seems to quieten in response. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ryan shoot Esposito a helpless look.

"That's not what he's saying, dude." By comparison, Esposito lowers his voice an octave. "But can you honestly say it doesn't bother you seeing Beckett's replacement over there, acting like she owns the place?" _When exactly did he become the voice of reason around here anyway?_

The three men watch as Detective Sarah Morgan busies herself with arranging the desk to her liking. Castle has to concede that the boys are right after a couple minutes of this. Over the years he's constructed this image of Kate, and while he certainly isn't blind to her faults, to think of her as anything less than irreplaceable feels inherently wrong.

He stares blankly at her for a few seconds more, cataloging her physical appearance and observing her mannerisms. This woman bears some similarities to Beckett's younger self and these first impressions leave him wishing it was possible to go back to the first time that they met, just so he can learn her all over again. In that moment, it hits him again that Kate is gone - and like he should have known it would - being here only intensifies that feeling. _How is he supposed to do this without her? _

"I've gotta go guys," he says, directing his attention back towards Ryan and Esposito. "You're right. I shouldn't be here right now." He doesn't wait for them to respond, before his back is to them and he's headed for the elevator with that same haunted expression.

While the elevator is in motion, he's tightly gripping the railing, needing something concrete to hold onto. When it stops moving, he has to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and makes a beeline for the doors before the anxiety attack thats creeping beneath his skin reaches the surface and everyone can see how much this is affecting him.

As soon as the fresh air hits his face he becomes aware of the fact that his eyes are watering. Raising his hand to shield his eyes, he can pretend that it's only because of the fierce glare of the summer sun. As luck would have it, he's barely stepped onto the sidewalk again when someone vacates a cab next to him. He flags down the driver and hastily gives his destination. The traffic seems to have thinned so it should be a relatively short journey, less time to agonize over and justify the decision he's just made. _He's doing the right thing. He is. _His entire body aches as he reaches again for his phone, clearly his mind's way of trying to hold him back, but Castle ignores it. Instead he searches for the name, writes the text and presses send anyway. The cab stops moving and he doesn't even pause to wait for his change before getting out, one thought firmly occupying his mind.


End file.
